Dust Devil (57 page)

“
Why
should I make it easy for you by telling you? You’re going to
kill me, anyway.”

“
That’s
right, Coal Lump.” Evie smiled in a way that sent an icy shiver
crawling up Sarah’s spine. “Now, toss that DAT tape over
here to me. Then stand up and pick up your purse. It’ll be
easier for me if I don’t have to come back here to clean up
after you.”

Silently,
Sarah did as instructed, knowing the DAT tape wasn’t important,
that she could always locate the hidden directory and retrieve its
files again, that it was the micro-cassette from the tape recorder
that mustn’t fall into Evie’s hands. To Sarah’s
relief, Evie stayed in front of Bubba’s desk and didn’t
notice the tape recorder, blocked from her view by Bubba’s big,
twenty-one-inch monitor.

“
All
right, Coal Lump.” Evie motioned with her rifle toward the
door. “Let’s go.”

For
the first time, Renzo cursed the
fact
that
Sarah had bought the old Lovell place,
which
was
outside the town limits and on the opposite side of the community
from Field-Yield, Inc. And every second was precious. The killer had
proved too clever to make the mistake of underestimating the
opposition, of not keeping a wary eye on the
fertilizer
plant, if that was the key to this entire business. Why in the hell
had Sarah ever gone there? Renzo wondered, hating himself. Because in
his heart, he knew the answer. She had done it for him, to prove his
innocence. Oh, God, why hadn’t he called home before leaving
Fritzchen’s Kitchen to head to the farmhouse? If he had, he
would have learned everything from Alex then—and would already
be at Field-Yield, Inc. Even now, Sarah could be dead. The very
thought filled Renzo with mind-numbing fear and anguish.

The
country roads brought more snarled oaths to his lips. He wanted to
open the Jaguar up, to jam the accelerator to the floorboard and let
the powerful V12 engine spring forward like the huge, predatory cat
for which the car was named. But that would be foolish on the dark,
dusty roads, where animals darted from the brush and loose sand
caused the tires to shift and slide. He drove as fast as he dared—all
the while haunted by a terrible sense of impending doom, as though it
weren’t fast enough, as though Sarah’s life were hanging
in a deadly balance and he weren’t going to get there in time.
He was absolutely frantic. The Jaguar growled ferociously as he urged
it on savagely.

In
the dark corridors of Field-Yield, Inc., knowing only that if she
were going to die, she would not do so without a struggle, Sarah took
her chance. As they passed the doorway of her old office, she knelt
down on one knee, pretending that her sandal had come loose, and when
Evie suspiciously stepped in closer to her, Sarah abruptly sprang up,
slamming her handbag so hard into Evie’s face that the
purse
went flying. Stunned, Evie staggered back, and before she could
recover, could raise the rifle into position to fire, Sarah shoved
her back into the office and yanked the door shut.

Then,
knowing she had only moments before Evie would be hard on her heels,
Sarah ran toward the heavy glass front doors of the fertilizer plant,
jerking her keys from her pocket so they would be at the ready. As
she had feared, the doors refused to budge as she slammed against
them. She jammed her key into the lock, twisted it furiously, then
raced outside toward her Jeep. Her heart sank as she saw that it
sported a flat tire, courtesy of Evie and the rifle. Even knowing how
sparks could fly up and set the gas tank on fire, Sarah was desperate
enough to have driven the vehicle on the rim. But there was no time
to make the attempt as, without warning, Evie barged out the front
doors of Field-Yield, Inc.

Wildly,
Sarah glanced around the halogen-lit parking lot. On the outskirts of
town, the fertilizer plant occupied several acres of land and was
surrounded by a high, chain-link fence. There was nothing else close,
no place for her to go in search of help, other than the night
watchman’s booth. As she reached it, she observed to her
despair that it was empty and that Otis Krueger was nowhere in sight.
In some dim corner of her mind, she wondered if Evie had killed him.
If she had killed poor old Thaddeus Rollins, too. If she, Sarah, were
the only person left alive at Field-Yield, Inc.—and utterly
alone with a madwoman who was bent on murdering her.

Evie
must have been crazy for years, Sarah thought. Only, she had been so
clever at concealing her madness that nobody had ever recognized that
fact.

The
fertilizer plant sprawled before Sarah like some huge, hulking alien
spacecraft. Around the tall, white-glowing halogen lights that lit
the grounds, moths flew, and june bugs droned and scuttled on the
asphalt. She would have to go back inside, she realized, dismayed.
Out here in the open, she would be like a deer caught in the cross
hairs of Evie’s scope. That thought had no sooner entered
Sarah’s mind than, some sixth sense warning her, she bolted
from the security booth. It was the only thing that saved her life as
Evie raised the rifle and fired. The bullet zinged in the darkness,
seeming to buzz like a wasp or a bee in Sarah’s ear before it
drilled a hole in one window of the security booth, so the safety
glass crackled, a giant spider web abruptly burgeoning across its
smooth surface.

The
tar that filled the cracks in the parking lot was still gooey from
the day’s heat and stuck to Sarah’s sandals as she
stumbled on, gasping with pain at the stitch that had begun in her
side. A scream was torn from her throat as she reached the factory
and saw Otis Krueger, the night watchman, slumped outside against the
wall near the door. Quickly, she bent to check for a pulse. To her
relief, he was alive but unconscious. Evie must have sneaked up
behind him and coldcocked him with the butt of her rifle while he was
making his nightly rounds, Sarah thought. For her own sake, she’d
have to leave him there until she could get help.

She
thanked God for her master key as she let herself into the factory
proper. Evie had deactivated the alarm in the office building, so it
hadn’t gone off when Sarah had opened the doors. Now her own
failure to deactivate and reset the factory alarm would cause it to
sound and the alarm company would notify both the sheriff’s
office and Bubba. Disheartened, she wondered if she could expect
assistance from either source. Hoag hadn’t balked at groping
her, and Bubba managed Field-Yield, Inc. Even though Sarah didn’t
want to believe it of him, she thought that surely he had to know
what was going on here, to be as much a part of the hideous cover-up
at the fertilizer plant as his father and sister. But it was too late
now to worry about whether either the sheriff or Bubba would come to
her rescue—or whether they would prove more than happy to let
Evie kill her. Thirty seconds had passed since Sarah had entered the
factory; as a result, the alarm had begun to blast deafeningly.

It
would continue to do so for several minutes before resetting itself.
She needed to use that time to get as deep into the factory as she
could—while Evie couldn’t hear her, couldn’t tell
which way she was headed. Sarah ran through the plant, the silvery
moonlight that streamed through its high, louvred windows of green
glass illuminating it dimly, casting processing machinery into
macabre shadow, making her think, like a child, that monsters lurked
in the dark. And they did—in the shape of Evie and her
murderous, mad mind. By now, she must be inside the factory, coming
up behind Sarah from the gloom at her back.

The
alarm had stopped blaring now. Sarah’s footfalls echoed
hollowly in the resulting eerie stillness as she hurried
on,
slipping from one piece of machinery to the next, hoping to work her
way through the plant to the warehouse and loading docks beyond, from
where she could run outside to the parking lot again, should help
arrive. She was sweating so profusely from fear and the heat that
perspiration ran into her eyes, nearly blinding her as she continued
on. Her top was almost soaked through, sticking uncomfortably to her
skin, and her breath came in harsh pants that seemed to her to sound
like a bellows in the factory, overly loud, betraying her position.
Surely she wouldn’t have to hide and flee much longer. Surely
the sheriff and Bubba would presently arrive. Realistically, however,
Sarah knew that how long it took them to get here would depend on
where they were when their respective calls came through.

“
Saaarrry.
Saaarrry.” Like the hiss of a snake, the stage whisper
reverberated in the plant, appearing to come at her from all
directions, so she glanced around frantically, attempting to pinpoint
the source. “Saaarrry.” Evie’s voice soughed again,
slinking and slithering through the entire factory, reminding Sarah
strangely of the pearls at Evie’s throat, coiling and twining,
constricting. They seemed now to be wrapped around Sarah’s own
throat, squeezing, cutting off her breath. Her heart thudded in her
breast. “Saaarrry.” The sound was coming through the PA
system, Sarah realized at last. Evie must be in the cubicle that was
the foreman’s office.

Crouched
low to the floor to avoid being a bigger target than she had to be,
knowing only that she had to keep moving, Sarah struggled on toward
the warehouse.

*
* *

It
was actually Bubba who pulled into the parking lot of Field-Yield,
Inc. first, the wide tires of his Corvette burning rubber as he
wheeled off the blacktop and screeched to a halt before the office
building. He pushed open the car’s low-slung door, then got out
a trifle unsteadily, having been on his third or fourth whiskey of
the evening when the alarm company had telephoned to notify him that
the alarm at the fertilizer plant was going off.

Belatedly,
he remembered he had never followed up on Jolene’s suspicion
that office supplies were being pilfered from the storerooms. Now he
thought hazily that it must be a gang of thieves at work and that
tonight they had got brazen enough to attempt to make off with more
than a couple of cases of diskettes. They probably had a truck parked
out back and were even now inside, ripping off the computers and Lord
only knew what else! Fuming at the very idea, Bubba stalked
determinedly toward the office building.

He
was so intent on throttling whomever he might find inside that he
didn’t notice Sarah’s Jeep parked in the space reserved
for his father, behind the tall, sprawling quince bushes. Much to his
surprise, the heavy glass front doors of the office were unlocked and
the alarm had been deactivated. Jolene’s theory must be right,
Bubba thought hotly, and it was old Thaddeus Rollins who was stealing
from Field-Yield, Inc.! Bubba couldn’t believe it. Thaddeus had
worked for the company as its head janitor for over twenty years and
was considered a valuable, trusted employee—and this was how he
had repaid them! Bubba was fit to be tied.

“
Thaddeus
Rollins!” he called angrily as he strode down the corridors.
“Hey, Thaddeus! Where are you? Get your damned black ass on out
here! I know you’re in here, trying to rip me off!”

The
distant drone of a vacuum cleaner attracted Bubba’s attention.
He found Thaddeus sprawled on an office floor, unconscious, a big,
nasty lump on the back of his head where he had been struck from
behind. Bubba shut off the vacuum cleaner and picked up the telephone
receiver to call an ambulance, now slightly ashamed of himself for
suspecting Thaddeus as the thieving culprit.

Outside
in the parking lot, Renzo stared down the long, blue barrel of Hoag’s
.357 Magnum revolver, knowing it was just a matter of moments until
the sheriff pulled the trigger—even though Hoag, having driven
in behind Renzo, was well aware of the fact that it wasn’t
Renzo who had broken into Field-Yield, Inc. Having spied both Sarah’s
car and Bubba’s, Renzo was frantic at the idea that she was
even now at Bubba’s cold-blooded mercy, that Bubba would rape
and then kill her.

“
Come
on, boy!” Hoag goaded, chewing furiously on the toothpick in
his mouth. “You know you want to have at me so bad you can
taste it! So come on. Think about me with my hands all over that
sweet little whore of yours, and come on! Give me an excuse to shoot
you right where you stand!”

“
You
don’t need an excuse, you filthy bastard!” Renzo retorted
hotly, his dark visage grim, enraged, a muscle flexing in his set
jaw, his eyes narrowed and hard as he stared at the sheriff, his
fingers itching to punch Hoag’s
pasty
face in again, to beat the hell out of him. “Now, get out of my
way, damn you! It’s Bubba who killed Lamar and Morse—and
now, he’s inside there with Sarah somewhere, and he’ll
kill her, too!”